


what makes a house a home

by Shoulder_Devil



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, How Do You Adult?, Right?, Statement Fic, The Spiral, with stuff, with stuff?, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-12 23:22:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21234281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shoulder_Devil/pseuds/Shoulder_Devil
Summary: Statement of Christopher Bernot regarding the redecoration of their flat.





	what makes a house a home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nelja-in-English (Nelja)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nelja/gifts).

Statement of Christopher Bernot regarding the redecoration of their flat. 

I shouldn’t try to measure my life by the same milestones that defined my parents. Or  _ their _ parents, I  _ know _ that. The world has changed so much in the last few decades and those markers… Well, they aren’t achievable for people like me any longer. That doesn’t stop me from doing it anyway, chasing some vague idea of what being an adult is supposed to feel like. I’ve never quite been able to find it, no matter what I do.

When I graduated from university, my flat was decorated with odds and ends and mismatched furniture. I thought, I’m saving money and who cares if it doesn’t match so long as it does it’s job. And that was fine, lived a comfortable life, if a bit garish to the eye. 

I started to notice my friends and coworkers growing up around me. Over the years their wardrobe had shifted to be more presentable, modern furnishing adorned the homes I visited for game nights. I started looking at my flat and realized I’d been left behind. I lived in the dumpy flat no one wanted to visit. I needed to catch up, become a ‘real adult’ whatever that meant. 

Almost as if they had heard me make the decision, I started seeing more and more adverts from a recently opened store down the way. Pages and pages of living room sets, matching bookcases, and kitchen appliances filled the booklets dropped through my mail slot. My charity shop couch and mismatched end tables were suddenly too embarrassing. I couldn’t have friends over until I replaced them with something more appropriate for someone my age. 

And wasn’t it convenient that there was a semi annual sale offering savings up to forty percent? Forty percent off of what I never did find out but it didn’t matter. It was perfect, I went to the store on Saturday and was immediately greeted at the door by a very enthusiastic man with blond hair and a distinctive laugh. By Wednesday I had a new living room delivered and I settled into my new life. 

And it worked, for a while. I would sit down on that couch with a book and feel like a person of value, someone who had done something with their life. But then I noticed my kitchen. 

There was nothing wrong with it  _ per se _ but the cabinets were roughed up and the counters were chipped, superficial things. But then I thought about the appliances. They were functional but old enough to be wasting money that newer, more energy efficient machines could save me. 

I heard the mail drop through the slot saw another yellow flyer advertising kitchen upgrades and renovations. They even had a service that would credit me for the value of my old appliances and any salvageable material. The salesman from before told me my current cabinets very popular right now with retro kitchen decor. With a bit of sanding and restaining they were worth enough to cover the material costs of my chosen replacement. He laughed and mentioned that I had “excellent taste” in doors, whatever that meant.

Rather than deal with the noise and dust, I booked a hotel for a few days while they did the majority of the work. When they were done the sight of the marble counter tops and brushed steel appliances filled me with a sense of pride and rightness with the world. This was what a kitchen should look like. Bright and new, ready to be used. It was easy to imagine myself perfectly flipping a pancake in the set of pans I’d bought while I was away. 

But that wasn’t right. Something clicked into place in my brain and suddenly the bags of cooking implements were too heavy and slipped from my grasp. I didn’t cook. I  _ hated _ cooking. Once in a great while I would make a giant pot of curry. I’d eat it for two days then freeze most of it for a later that never came. 

I wasn’t this person I was pretending to be. Even with the trappings of a well appointed flat I was still just me. Wasn’t I? I felt so responsible with those new dishes under my arm but now that the box had fallen to the ground spilling glass shards across the new tile, what was I? 

A laugh from the living room that startled me from my thoughts. The same laugh of the man who’d sold me the life I’d so desperately craved. The television had been left on and right there, smiling and laughing his laugh that made my head pound, was the golden haired salesman, asking me what I needed to make my house a home. 

The colors were too bright and his voice too loud, scratching against the inside of my skull. Even when I muted the television he still laughed and promised me a new bedroom set was just what I needed to have the  _ perfect _ life. 

I want that perfect life.

I can’t sleep in my bed anymore. No matter what I do I can’t get comfortable for long enough to sleep. I tried watching television but before long a commercial comes on with a face smiling too bright and too wide, promising me the best night’s sleep I’ve ever had on their new Spiral Spring Technology mattress. 

I don’t want to buy it. Some part of me knows it won’t be good for me. The part of me that brought me here. That it won’t be enough, though. Nothing will be enough.  _ I’ll  _ never be enough. 

But I’m so tired. 

And their summer mattress sale is almost over. I wouldn’t want to miss out on free delivery and installation. 

Statement ends


End file.
